


barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly

by nosecoffee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: ? - Freeform, AU, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, Curses, Deals, Debts, Fantasy AU, He could murder me and I'd say thanks, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't even know what this is guys, M/M, Magic, cursed Jughead, dumb Fred, i love Jughead so much, i think, poor archie, sinister Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosecoffee/pseuds/nosecoffee
Summary: Fred asks him for directions back to his castle.Jughead tells him that he will take him there, but only in return for the first thing Fred sees upon his return home.Fred knows immediately what a mistake he's made as he looks at Archie's grinning face, the first thing he sees upon his return home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Beauty and the Beast' from Beauty and the Beast
> 
> So  
> Guess who went to see the live action Beauty and the Beast and fuckin loved it? Guess who went home and watched the Storyteller and cried and wrote this?  
> Answer? Me!
> 
> Enjoy this mess, guys, cause I don't know what it is (hint: it's vaguely inspired by Hans My Hedgehog from The Storyteller)
> 
> Update: I edited this

Gladys Jones lies upside down in bed, much to her husbands ire.

"What are you doing now?" He asks as she shifts.

"You want a child, don't you?" She replies. "I hear lying upside down helps with fertility and whatnot."

"You're insane," FP Jones grumbles at his wife's antics and rolls over.

~

Two months later there is no progress.

Gladys Jones sits by the window and looks up at the clear blue sky. "I think time might be running out for any child of ours," she says. "I think it becomes less and less likely with each sunset."

"You think a lot of things," FP replies, hanging his hat. "Some thoughts ain't meant to be thought."

"Is the thought of children one of 'em?" Gladys asks him.

"I don't know. But it don't look like it's working, at this point." FP tells her.

"I don't care." Gladys announces, and it's not clear who she's addressing. "I don't care if it's ugly as a boar, or small as a chick. I just want one so bad. I don't care if it don't speak right, or if it's as prickly as a hedgehog-"

The wind changes, the front door slams, Gladys inhales sharply, feeling something heavy in her bones, like a wish being granted, like a curse being placed.

~

Gladys and FP Jones have a child. Or, not quite.

They call him Forsythe, but he calls himself Jughead.

He wears a coat of hedgehog quills that cannot be shed, and has a squashed nose.

He is something not quite human, something strange.

Gladys's wish is granted.

But at what cost?

~

Jughead Jones is seventeen years old when he runs away.

That may not be the best terminology for it.

He runs away for a night, leaving his parents to search through the cold, dark night for him.

When he returns he tells them his plan.

"I cannot remain here," Jughead tells them, "because I don't belong here. There's something better for me, out there, better, in the grand scheme of things. I only require a few things from you before I go. Some money, some form of transport, and some food."

His parents reluctantly hand over the items he requests, and watch him walk away.

Gladys Jones dies that night, of heartbreak, as mothers often do when a child leaves too soon before they should.

(As mothers often do in stories they're not needed in anymore.)

~

It is six years later when Fred Andrews becomes terribly lost in the forest.

So lost, in fact, that he forgets where he was going in the first place.

He's ready to give up when he hears music, a soft, melancholy type of music that warms your soul and breaks your heart and soothes your mind.

Fred Andrews follows this music deeper into the forest, until he comes upon a castle not unlike his own.

He knocks on the door. He waits.

Fred Andrews is not used to waiting, but he does with as much grace as he can muster.

The music cuts off and a few minutes later, he is faced with none other than Jughead Jones, grown into a man. Or, what people call cursed people like him, a grovelhog.

Fred Andrews has seen a lot of strange things in his time. Jughead is something else entirely.

~

Jughead offers him food, a place to rest his head.

Fred asks him for directions back to his castle.

Jughead tells him that he will take him there, but only in return for the first thing Fred sees on his return home. Fred agrees, knowing for sure the first thing would be his dog.

He promises to come to collect in a year and a day, and asks Fred to write to him, should he have news concerning the deal. Fred asks him how he could possibly write to him, without knowing how to reach him.

Jughead promises that it won't be too much trouble, that he'll know how to do it.

He then plays him some music on a roughly made flute and Fred falls asleep.

~

When Fred wakes, he is on the hill right in front of his castle.

He thinks perhaps that Jughead Jones may have just been a strange dream. But the haunting memory of his melancholy flute floats through Fred's mind and assures him that it is real.

Fred arrives at the palace, his deal with Jughead Jones fresh in his mind, when, all of a sudden, his son throws himself into Fred's arms.

Fred knows immediately what a mistake he's made as he looks at Archie's grinning face, the first thing he sees upon his return home.

~

He comes clean when he's able, and Fred can tell immediately how unhappy Mary is with him.

Archie takes it with grace and dignity, saying that any man who saved his father must be a noble one indeed, but Mary protests, loudly.

"You traded in our son for your return, you stupid man?" She cries in their room, that night. "Do you understand what this means? No heir, Fred Andrews! None for you, or our son! Just a hideous _grovelhog!"_

Fred flinches at the insults and accusations she hurls, and thinks of Archie, of the freedom he's given away.

Thinks of his red, red hair, and his warm, loving eyes.

There is no one in the land so deserving of his smile, of his optimism and kindness.

And Fred's given it away for a path home.

~

Fred does not write him, but Archie does. He says, "If this man is as kind as you say, I'm sure he won't mind too much for a few questions."

Jughead replies, nicely, and when Fred reads the reply, he asks Archie, "Did you tell him?"

Archie shakes his head. "I think it best that he not know until absolutely necessary."

Archie continues to write to him, never letting on the secret. Mary is unhappy, Fred knows.

~

Jughead Jones appears at the castle after a year and a day, there to see just what Fred owes him.

Fred knows he cannot lie, doesn't want to, because, hideous as Jughead may be, he is honourable and perhaps the most worthy of his son.

Fred brings Archie forward when Jughead is there before them, much to Mary's chagrin and Jughead's surprise.

"Your son?" Jughead asks, sounding almost unsure.

Archie watches him with a level gaze.

"I remember the terms of our agreement." Fred states, noting the slight tilt of Mary's mouth and the curiosity in Archie's eyes. "My son has agreed to them as well."

"An honourable man such as yourself, who saved my father, is very dear to me, even if he is a stranger." Archie states, every bit the prince he was born as.

Jughead stares at him and turns to Fred and Mary. "And I have the blessing of your parents, prince?"

Fred watches Mary barely hold back the laugh of disgust she's dying to release. Thankfully, she's a queen and knows she mustn't laugh.

"You do." She tells him with barely concealed hate.

Jughead nods. "We shall be married, then." He states.

~

They are, and Archie doesn't protest once.

Fred aches in sorrow for his son.

~

The night of their wedding, Archie lies down in bed, waits for the dip in the mattress that is sure to come.

It never does.

He waits until he knows Jughead thinks he is asleep.

Archie turns, looks through his lashes as Jughead, standing by the fireplace, shivers and sheds the coat of quills from his back, revealing someone human, with silly black hair and ribs that are barely contained by pale, skin, marred and marked by moles.

His nose isn't squashed, his eyes wide and blue, mouth pink and chapped.

He's beautiful, in a way only the grovelhog's words could be.

Archie doesn't know this man, the man underneath the grovelhog.

Archie watches him leave the room, and looks out the window as the man pets the horses below and feeds the pigs.

This man, this farm boy underneath the monster, was this the man who's saved Archie's father from the treachery of the forest?

Archie hears soft flute music in his ears as he lies back down in his bed.

He falls asleep to the flute, wondering how the coat of quills on the floor by the fire would feel beneath his soft hands.

~

The next morning, the grovelhog is back, like the night before was just some surreal dream.

Archie's almost convinced it was, but he catches a glint in Jughead's eyes, pictures the slope of the man's shoulders, the moles on his jaw and stray hairs in his eyes, the v of his hips, and the softness of his calves.

Archie pictures the man, and thinks he sees the grovelhog shiver.

Mary notices.

"You look at him different than you did yesterday," she says, looping her arm through his as they walk through the castle gardens. "What happened?"

"I think I had a dream, or perhaps it was real," Archie admits to her, watching her dark eyes glitter with schemes and plots. "I had a dream that my husband shed the grovelhog from his skin and became something gorgeous in the moonlight. He fed the pigs and pet the horses in the stable and left his coat of quills by the fire, on the floor."

Mary peers at him before laughing shrilly. "My dear, you really do have a spectacular imagination, far too gorgeous for the monster you are tied to, now. Things like your dream don't happen, my sweet. Your husband is nothing but a grovelhog. Dismiss it, I beg of you."

Archie agrees, telling himself, trying to convince himself, that she's right, that there's no way Jughead could be anyone but the grovelhog.

~

That night, though, as Archie feigns sleep in their bed, he watches through his lashes as Jughead sheds his coat and leaves the room without a stitch on his body, once again.

This time, Archie swings himself out of his bed, huddles on the floor, and stretches out a hand to touch the quills. They are soft as silk, fine as feathers.

Archie finds himself intoxicated, enraptured by the feel of it, wondering why it never felt this way when he touched Jughead before.

He lies down on the coat of quills, pressing as much of himself to it as possible, and, against his better judgement, falls asleep their, right beside the fire, imagining he can hear a melancholy flute.

~

He wakes when the farm boy returns, and he cocks his head, staring down at Archie. "I knew you would notice," and the farm boy and the grovelhogs voices are the same. Archie relaxes, and sits up, scooting away from the coat.

"I'm sorry-" he begins but Jughead - he knows it's him for sure now - shakes his head, taking his hand delicately.

"Don't be. You might be able to help me." He says, and sits down in front of Archie. "I'm cursed. The only way to break the curse, is for you to love me, if only for three nights. I hope you could, after our correspondence."

Archie swallows. Runs a hand over the coat of quills and looks to Jughead. "You want me to love you?" Jughead nods, shadows scattered over his pale face. "Would you love me in return?"

"If you want me to." The farm boy tells him.

Archie nods. "I'll do it."

~

Archie wakes in his bed, assuming it yet another handsome dream, created to help him cope with the strange marriage he's become a part of, but the memory of the coat beneath his fingers remains much too vivid in his mind. The memory of the conversation, the memory of the shadows on Jughead's skin, the memory of his eyes, the same as in the daylight.

It distracts him to no end.

Mary pulls him aside after breakfast (tense, and awkward, as Archie cannot meet his husbands eyes, and Fred tries to act like everything's normal) and smiles.

"You may pretend you dreamed it, my dear," she states, something in her tone that scares him a little, "but there are such cases, I have read, in which creatures shed their skin in the night and take their true form. If you throw his coat onto the fire, he'll stay that way forever, my sweet."

Archie stares at his mother, horrified at her meaning. "Burn it?" He asks, trying to clarify what he already knows.

"Burn it, and show him you know better than your dimwitted father." Mary encourages him, and leaves him shocked and conflicted in the corridor.

~

That night, the routine continues and Archie gets up again, touching the coat with shaking hands.

His mother's words ring sharp in his mind.

 _Burn it,_ his mind urges, but something else in him protests.

 _Find who he really is,_ the other part whispers. _Let him be the grovelhog, but see the man on the inside. Love him as he requests._

Archie lays down on it. His mother would be unhappy if he didn't do as she said, but then Archie thinks of Fred's face whenever he looks at Archie now, with regret and guilt.

If Jughead could be the farm boy he is in the moonlight during the day, someone pale and slender and quiet, maybe his mother might hate him less, maybe his father would understand.

Loving him could take decades, and here is a solution that may only take a few moments.

Ultimately, Archie picks up the coat and throws it on the fire.

The screams he hears from below shake him to his core and he runs to the window to see the grovelhog, no longer the farm boy with the blue eyes and pink mouth, in the stable.

"You're just as mistrusting and devious as your mother!" The grovelhog calls, betrayed and hurt. "You can never love!"

The grovelhog disappears between the hills before Archie's very eyes and he sobs for the loss in his soul, unsure as to when Jughead had really become so important.

~

Mary seems delighted at Jughead's absence the next day, but Archie is distraught at what he's done.

"I cannot stay," he tells his parents at breakfast. "I need to find him and tell him how deeply I felt his hurt."

"You cannot love the grovelhog, can you?" Mary asks, aghast.

"He is my husband, is he not?" Archie shoots back.

"If this is what you believe is right," Fred says.

"It is not about the beauty you find on the outside," Archie whispers. "It does not matter if he's an ugly, gruff grovelhog. All that matters is that he's kind, something you have never understood." He points to his mother. She gapes at him, and let's Archie leave without another word.

~

Archie travels for a long time - far too long - in search of the grovelhog, of the slender farm boy, of his husband. He wears through nine pairs of shoes, watches his hair go white as the seasons change and it turns to winter.

It cannot be more than a year when Archie stumbles on a well-lived-in shack, a bed well-worn at both ends, and a front door slammed too hard a few too many times.

This is where he finds Jughead.

"I've searched for you for months," Archie states. "I've searched for you, with my intent being only that I need to beg your forgiveness. I was foolish to believe I could change you, when you were changing already, if only when you thought me asleep."

Jughead says nothing.

"Is it really so bad to look at me?" Archie demands. "I, your husband, and you cannot look at me? I betrayed you, yes, but you never warned me against it. You never loved me or kissed me. All you did was marry me, then claimed I could never love."

Jughead shifts, but he does not look at Archie. Archie wonders if the quills on his back are still soft like silk, and fine like feathers.

"I wore through nine pairs of shoes trying to find you. My hair went white. You cannot look at me. Am I so hideous, or am I handsome but rotten on the inside, like my mother, like a sour fruit? Talk to me."

Archie grabs him by the arm and hauls him upright. "Am I really so revolting? Was I so cold hearted? So unkind?"

He shakes the grovelhog, unafraid.

He does not know when he loved him. Perhaps between the fourth and fifth pair of shoes, or perhaps at that first touch of his coat of quills. Or perhaps in the firelight beside the coat, nothing but their souls left to talk out.

Perhaps when he told his mother what beauty truly meant for him, and realised what the grovelhog had done to him, to his heart.

The grovelhog grips his wrists back, throws Archie to the floor, with enough force that he goes without much fight, but not enough that it hurts.

Something happens. The wind changes, the door slams, Jughead inhales sharply.

Archie lies on the floor, a coat of quills on his front, the slender farm boy standing over him.

He looks surprised. "How?" The boy whispers, looks at his hands.

Archie feels a tear escape his eye, run down his cheek toward his ear as he lies on the floor. "Only love could bring me here, make my hair white. Only sorrow could make me travel this far. Only regret for using you and losing you could make me wear through nine pairs of shoes to find you."

He says nothing, just stares.

"You asked me to love you, if only for three nights. I loved you through every step, even if I hated you too."

"And so you love me?" Jughead Jones, the farm boy who had always been the grovelhog, asks the prince.

"I could only love you." Archie responds, holding the coat tight to his chest.

Jughead sits down, pulls Archie upright. "Then I think we have a lot to discuss, don't we, if we are truly husbands, my prince."

Archie runs his fingers through the silk of the coat of quills, look at Jughead through his lashes, like he's seeing him for the first time, in the dead of night. "I think we do, my grovelhog."

~

Archie falls asleep to the haunting melody of Jughead's flute each night, but there's a hopeful lilt to it, now that whatever curse set on him is gone.

His hair returns to red the night they reunite, sitting in the well-worn bed that had once belonged to Jughead's late parents.

They kiss for the first time that night, and Archie can only think of this slender, pale farm boy, who had been trapped in a grovelhog for twenty-three years.

Jughead lets him keep the coat, telling him to think of it as a late wedding present.

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please feel free to leave a comment and/or a kudos, and you can track me down on Tumblr @nose-coffee.
> 
> Some other notes: I know I said I was working on Breakfast Club AU, but I got distracted, I'm sorry, I'll get right back on it, right after I pass out. I promise.
> 
> Again, thank you!


End file.
